Growing Younger, Together: A Communal Space For Women To Be Themselves

On a warm February afternoon, when the sun hung lazily over Chembur and the air carried the faint scent of gulmohar and petrol, a corner of the Chembur Gymkhana glowed in a sea of red. Laughter rose above the hum of traffic. Strangers might have mistaken it for a wedding rehearsal or a family reunion. Instead, it was something quieter, yet just as profound, a gathering of women choosing joy.

They call themselves Grow Younger.

Twice a week, women of all ages arrive at the gymkhana grounds with water bottles, stories of the week passed by and lots of love. Some travel from as far as Mulund, navigating local trains and auto-rickshaws just to make it in time. By four in the afternoon, the group begins to swell. Sandals slipped off. Dupattas are adjusted. Greetings are exchanged with warm hugs that linger just a second longer than usual.

On February 12, the gathering carried an extra sparkle. It was their Valentine’s Day celebration. Every woman wore red, bright scarlet kurtas, ruby T-shirts, cherry dresses, as though the colour itself could amplify the heartbeat of the group. Love was not romantic here; it was communal, expansive. It floated in the air like a soft promise.

They began, as always, with gentle stretches. Arms lifted toward the pale blue sky. Shoulders rolled back. Ankles flexed. The afternoon heat wrapped around them, but no one seemed to mind. A speaker crackled to life, playing melodies that many of them knew by heart. Soon, the exercises gave way to games, lighthearted competitions that triggered peals of laughter. Then came dancing. Not choreographed or self-conscious, just spontaneous swaying and clapping, silver hair and black hair moving in rhythm together.

At the center of it all stood Mala Mansukhani, the founder of Grow Younger, her energy as bright as the red around her.

“I started this because women need a space of their own,” she says, pausing between songs as members gather around her. “We spend our lives taking care of families, children, in-laws. Somewhere along the way, we forget to celebrate ourselves. I wanted women of all age groups to come together, to love life, to feel alive.”

For Mansukhani, this isn’t new. She has been organizing similar gatherings for decades, first informally in other neighborhoods and now through Grow Younger. The name reflects her philosophy: youth is less about age and more about spirit.

Around her, the evidence is compelling.

There is Prakash Khanna, the eldest member of the group, her silver hair pulled neatly into a bun. She joins the stretching with surprising agility and laughs the loudest during the games. “I found a new version of myself here,” she says, her eyes crinkling. “At this age, you think life is slowing down. But when I come here, I feel I am just beginning again.”

For Prakash, the twice-weekly meetings are not simply exercise sessions. They are reminders that identity does not shrink with age. “At home, you are someone’s mother, someone’s grandmother,” she explains. “Here, I am just me.”

A few steps away stands Kiran, who spends her mornings volunteering at an NGO for children with disabilities. Her days are full, emotionally and physically. Yet she guards her Grow Younger evenings fiercely. “This is my comforting space,” she says softly. “When you give so much of yourself, you also need a place to refill. Here, I don’t have to explain anything. I can just breathe.”

As the music shifts to a faster beat, the group forms a loose circle, clapping in rhythm. Amarjeet, 73, stands among them, her red kurta catching the light. “I went into depression,” she says. “I didn’t feel like meeting anyone. The house felt empty. I felt empty.” But now, Amarjeet says that she feels good physically and mentally.

As the afternoon slips toward evening, the light softens, turning the red outfits into deeper shades of crimson. There are photographs, dozens of them, with arms slung over shoulders and cheeks pressed together. In each frame, there is an unmistakable ease.

The beauty of Grow Younger lies in its simplicity. There are no membership drives or grand speeches. Just a patch of ground, a speaker, and a circle of women choosing connection over isolation. In a city that often moves too fast, where suburban distances can feel emotional as well as physical, this small ritual of togetherness feels radical.

For many of these women, their world once revolved entirely around others. Now, twice a week, it revolves around themselves, their health, their laughter, their friendships. The name of the group is less a command than a declaration: they are growing younger not in years, but in spirit.

As the sun begins to set, the women leave in clusters, still chatting, already discussing the next meeting. The heat has mellowed, and a gentle breeze carries their laughter down the street.

In the fading light, Chembur Gymkhana returns to its ordinary quiet. But for those who were there, the afternoon lingers, a reminder that love, in its purest form, can be found not only in roses and romance, but in shared stretches, unrestrained dancing, and the simple courage to begin again.